Monday, 12th of April, 1081, Palace of Blachernae, northwest Constantinople
The newly crowned Emperor Alexios I, Emperor of Rome prepared for bed. He had just said his prayers on his komboskini. He started the Midnight Office of saying the Jesus prayer 600 times; now he figured that it was nearly two hours later. In this respect, his life did not change; he was still the same Alexios he had been just three years ago, before the conspiracy that catapulted him into the position of Emperor. He settled finally down in his bed to read and ponder on the Scriptures. His young wife had already long fallen asleep. Her copy of the writings of Saint John the Goldenmouthed lay next to her bedside table. Today, he decided to randomnly pick a passage from the Holy Writings, and reflect quickly before he fell asleep. It had been a long day, and the memories of just a few weeks ago, of him and his men cutting down men and women in the streets, or setting buildings to the torch, of looting the houses of God for precious metals, all this filled his head, refusing to let him go. These memories barraged him like a swarm of hornets, and his guilt hurt worse than the any swarm of insects could. Finally, his finger landed on I Corinthians 9:19-27:
“Ἐλεύθερος γὰρ ὢν ἐκ πάντων πᾶσιν ἐμαυτὸν ἐδούλωσα, ἵνα τοὺς πλείονας κερδήσω· καὶ ἐγενόμην τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις ὡς Ἰουδαῖος, ἵνα Ἰουδαίους κερδήσω· τοῖς ὑπὸ νόμον ὡς ὑπὸ νόμον, μὴ ὢν αὐτὸς ὑπὸ νόμον, ἵνα τοὺς ὑπὸ νόμον κερδήσω· τοῖς ἀνόμοις ὡς ἄνομος, μὴ ὢν ἄνομος θεοῦ ἀλλ’ ἔννομος Χριστοῦ, ἵνα κερδάνω τοὺς ἀνόμους· ἐγενόμην τοῖς ἀσθενέσιν ἀσθενής, ἵνα τοὺς ἀσθενεῖς κερδήσω· τοῖς πᾶσιν γέγονα πάντα, ἵνα πάντως τινὰς σώσω. Πάντα δὲ ποιῶ διὰ τὸ εὐαγγέλιον, ἵνα συγκοινωνὸς αὐτοῦ γένωμαι.
Οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι οἱ ἐν σταδίῳ τρέχοντες πάντες μὲν τρέχουσιν, εἷς δὲ λαμβάνει τὸ βραβεῖον; Οὕτως τρέχετε ἵνα καταλάβητε. Πᾶς δὲ ὁ ἀγωνιζόμενος πάντα ἐγκρατεύεται, ἐκεῖνοι μὲν οὖν ἵνα φθαρτὸν στέφανον λάβωσιν, ἡμεῖς δὲ ἄφθαρτον. Ἐγὼ τοίνυν οὕτως τρέχω ὡς οὐκ ἀδήλως, οὕτως πυκτεύω ὡς οὐκ ἀέρα δέρων· ἀλλὰ ὑπωπιάζω μου τὸ σῶμα καὶ δουλαγωγῶ, μή πως ἄλλοις κηρύξας αὐτὸς ἀδόκιμος γένωμαι.”
“For though I am free from all men, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win the more; and to the Jews I became as a Jew, that I might win Jews; to those who are under the law, as under the law, that I might win those who are under the law; to those who are without law, as without law (not being without law toward God, but under law toward Christ), that I might win those who are without law; to the weak I became as weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all men, that I might by all means save some. Now this I do for the gospel's sake, that I may be partaker of it with you.
Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain it. And everyone who competes for the prize is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an imperishable crown. Therefore I run thus: not with uncertainty. Thus I fight: not as one who beats the air. But I discipline my body and bring it into subjection, lest, when I have preached to others, I myself should become disqualified.”
“To the Jews, I became as a Jew, that I might win Jews, eh?” The Emperor thought to himself. His mind was working slowly, bogged down with exhaustion and guilt. “Then to the Turks, I will become as a Turk, that I might win the Turks! Eureka!” He quickly got up from bed, careful not to wake his young bride, and went to his desk. In his Bible, he wrote notes to himself for the next morning. “To Nikaia, I will go, and with Suleiman, son of Kutalmish.” He returned to his bed and fell asleep, entering into dark, uneasy dreams again.
Tuesday, 13th of April, 1081, Great Palace of Constantinople, southeast Constantinople
The Emperor was trying to enjoy his breakfast on one of the balconies today, a spongy omelette with onions and cheese. Easter had passed, and now the Ruler of Rome could enjoy a nice meal of eggs and cheese. The Protostrator, first Count of the Stables, was led in to see the pensive Alexios. He got down on one knee, head facing downward to address the Autokrator, the ‘Self Ruler’. The Emperor had him rise up to talk to him—he was never one for rigid protocol. After All, he had served with this very man on the battlefield more times than he could recall.
“Kyrie [Lord, Master], the horses are all watered, fed, and saddled. The Imperial messengers are all ready, each with a copy of your directives and letters to Suleiman the Turk. They can be ready to leave this instant, should you desire it, and be to Nikaia [Nicea] by the week’s end. However, after they cross the Hellespont to Chalcedon, their journey will be greatly slowed once they enter Turkish-held territory. We have equipped each of them with the banner of your House, and each of your missives are bound with your seal, Master. Should the worst happen, they each have a bag of nomísmata [solidi] to keep bandits at bay. The riders are all gathered within the Royal Stables, Lord; you may speak with them there.”
The Emperor, still reclining on his couch, looking pensively out towards the Bosporus, got up and looked the man in the eyes.
“Go and find my chaplain, and bring him to the Stables. Leave me to dress properly and after, I will walk down to the Stables. Go immediately, Protostrate.
Less than an hour later, the purple-clad Emperor made his way to his stables. He loved the smell of the stables; of the musty straw, the leather of the saddles and stirrups, and the odor of the horses. Saddling up his horse, Sgouritzin [«Σγουρίτζην», literally ‘dark bay’] was always when the rush of adrenalin before battle started for him. Getting a chance to visit Sgouritzin was well worth getting the soles of his purpureus boots soaked with piss.
He saw the party gathered in front of the stall of Sgouritzin as he made his way down the long row of the enclosures of the steeds. Apparently, they knew him all too well. His Spiritual Father had met him there, the chaplain of his forces that had travelled across the Empire and back with him. Alexios just noticed now how weary and old his Father Confessor seemed. He had his hair pulled back—it had become frizzled and grey during his time serving the spiritual needs of not only the commander, but the entire Army. He had taken to walking with a staff now (an unornamented one, careful not to imply that his staff was equal to the Staff of Asklepiós, the gilded stave of the chief spiritual-healer of the City), and his face had more wrinkles in it than Alexios could remember. However, even as his Spiritual Father approached old age, his eyes still lit up as he saw his charge approach. The Protostrator knelt again on one knee: the four young men delegated to be the Emperor’s messengers crouched low to the ground, careful not to look up at their Ruler. His chaplain, however, unsurprisingly did not kneel down. For the first time in awhile, the Emperor was able to crack a smile.
“You may begin the blessing, Father.” The Emperor said, amusedly.
“Thank you, Autokrate.” The priest nodded his head and opened his Bible. He cleared his throat and informed the six other men gathered that he had chosen a passage from the Book of Proverbs 21:31: “O ἵππος ἑτοιμάζεται εἰς ἡμέραν πολέμου παρὰ δὲ κυρίου ἡ βοήθεια.”
“The horse is prepared for the day of battle, but victory rests with the Lord.”
“So then, it is with the Lord that you will ride swiftly and victoriously straight to the hands of the Scourge of God, Suleiman, son of Kutalmish. Bring him our Master’s words so that our Master might become an Apostle of Christ to the Turks. You four brave-lads are doing God’s work. May nothing harm you. Go, now; may your steeds be as the steeds mentioned in the Book of Abbakoum [Habakkuk]—as swift as the leopards and more fierce than the evening wolves. And may you four fly as swift as the eagles that are hastening to eat. God be with you all!” The priest doused the horses and the four men with his randistirion [holy water dispenser]. They untied their horses’ bridles from the their stalls and they mounted up, with a sword, dagger, banner, and all. One of the steeds was a dark bay, like Sgouritzin, while the other three were a dapple-grey, a chestnut, and a ruddy dun. They sped through the Royal Stables, towards the streets of the City going east, so that they might catch passage across the Bosporus and on to their destiny.
“Do you think they’ll make it?” The Protostator asked the other two.
“We have placed them in God’s hands, I know they will.”
The Emperor only laughed, and started to walk back towards the Palace.
